You had a weekly therapist. His name? Mikey.

Not some licensed, office-bound stranger in a tie and uncomfortable shoes—no, your therapist was your best friend, your sunshine in turtle form, and honestly? It was kind of perfect. He took the job more seriously than you expected, and best of all? It was free—plus snacks if he was in a good mood (which he usually was).

He’d set up his “office” in a quiet corner of the lair—sometimes the kitchen, sometimes his room, or wherever felt cozy that week. Today, it was the beanbag nook. He sat across from you with his clipboard balanced on one knee, a sleek pen in hand, and a pair of slightly crooked glasses perched on his nose, which he dramatically pushed up every few minutes to look more “professional.” It was all very official. Very Mikey.

“Okay,” he said with a warm, practiced tone. “Session start. You can talk about anything, and I mean anything, even if it’s just about how annoying Donnie’s humming is lately. Or if you had a weird dream. Or nothing at all. I’m all ears, my friend.”

You didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure you had anything to say. Not today.

So he waited.

He didn’t pressure you. He didn’t shift impatiently or tap his pen like a clock ticking down. He just sat there, posture soft but attentive, eyes kind behind those nerdy glasses. He doodled on the side of the clipboard sometimes. Little stars, smiley faces. Wrote something you couldn’t see, probably notes like “quiet today, maybe give them extra snacks later.”

And after a full hour—literally, exactly sixty minutes, because Mikey always kept track—he looked at his watch, nodded, and smiled at you gently.

“Well, we’re done for today,” he said, scribbling something one last time. “Wanna go get smoothies? I heard April left the good kind in the fridge.”

You stood, and he stood with you, offering a little high-five that didn’t require words. That was the thing about Mikey—he didn’t need you to speak to know you were feeling something, and he never made you feel bad for the silence. The silence, to him, was just another part of healing.

And maybe… that made him the best therapist you could’ve ever asked for.